


First Time Lucky

by LMT



Category: Dexter (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-23 22:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1582070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a guy with serious interpersonal deficits can see what she is doing: she needs to remind herself that this is *Dexter,* and that he is completely at her disposal.</p><p>He lies still and relaxes while she explores.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time Lucky

 

**A/N: slight AU/expansion of their first time.  Just found this on my computer after like years.  Yay!**

 

* * *

She pulls his shirt over his head for him. But she doesn't pull it _all_ the way off – she leaves it bunched up around his arms, pinning them behind his back.

She’s staring into his eyes, head cocked, intense. As if she has a question. _Is this okay?,_ he guesses, and he nods in response. “Anything you need,” he says. “You’re welcome to it.” He tilts his head back, baring his throat – it’s the best way to explain what he’s offering.

She seems to understand. She steps in and presses her lips to his chest, just under his collarbone, and brings her hands up to his shoulders. “Do you mean that?” she asks as she pushes him down to sit on his bed. Holding her breath, she lays one hand where her lips had been, then curls her fingers into claws. She waits.

“I do,” he says steadily. When she rakes her nails hard across him, he sucks in his breath and tenses, but he doesn’t move.

She watches the lines on his chest glow white and then turn an angry red, and he watches her face. After a bit she looks up to meet his eyes, and takes him by the shoulders again. He scoots backwards to help her, awkwardly because his arms are still bound up behind him, and soon they’ve got him lying on his back. She gets on top and starts to stroke him, with determination – especially his face. Even a guy with serious interpersonal deficits can see what she is doing: she needs to remind herself that this is _Dexter_ , and that he is completely at her disposal and will do only what she says. No matter what.

He lies still and relaxes while she explores. It’s almost like playing dead for a kitten… but he knows how serious this must be for her, and he manages not to smile at the thought. Her lips are pressed tight together, her brow drawn, and she is so intense that when her hand rests on his throat a moment he finds his heart beating faster.

She is starting to be frightening again, and he wants her. He wants _this._ She’s beautiful in her kill suit, the dark fabric showing off her curves and her hints of muscle. He remembers her hefting the knife, her gloved hands-

Oh _God._ Her gloves.

For some reason the image of Lumen in her gloves hits Dexter more powerfully than any pornography ever has, and his smoldering arousal all at once bursts into flame. He gasps aloud, arches and then squirms. His pants are constricting him all of a sudden, rubbing, and he has never, _ever_ been made this desperate by sex in all his life.

“Dexter?” she asks, concerned. She sits up and now he can see her hands, too white against her clothes. They need their leather.

“Would you-” But he stops just in time. He has to calm down first, to think it over. What he was about to ask for might sound sick to most people, he isn’t sure, and the last thing Lumen needs during her re-acquaintance with sex is to be scared off by a serial killer’s creepy perversion.

“Would I what?” she asks, her dark mood broken. Now she’s amused – because she can see his expression and it says that right now he’s either in intense pain, or helplessly enslaved by his dick. She knows she hasn’t hurt him, so…

“Nothing,” he squeaks, but his eyes move to the nightstand and hers follow.

She frowns, looking at the mess there, and then sees what he must be talking about. “Dexter!” she sounds almost scandalized. “Really?” She leans over to pick them up, and for the first time he starts to struggle.

But before he can untangle the shirt from his arms she’s settling back down over him, spreading a hand out on his solar plexus. “No,” she says, and he lies still. She smiles at him, a little uncertainly, and runs the gloves through her hand. “Just tell me. Is that what you want?”

He swallows.

“It’s okay – tell me. Is it?”

“Yes,” he whispers, hoarse. _Want_ is not sufficient to express what he’s feeling. “ _Yes._ Is that okay?” He watches her put them on, and as she does, something comes over her face again. He knows what it is – it’s power, confidence… it’s her knowledge that _she is dangerous._

He sighs, long and shivery, when she touches him again. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and then shuts up to let her play. She strokes his cheeks, cups his jaw, traces his ear. Then she touches his throat, gently but still the feeling of cool leather there is almost too much to handle. He moans and presses up against it, eyes closed.

He’s so attuned to her that he feels her hesitate almost before she does, and he knows why – stylized and painless as it is, to Lumen it still _looks_ like a strangle. “ _Yes,_ ” he breathes, and opens his eyes. “It’s fine. Anything you want.”

For a moment her fingers tighten, digging in to his neck, but he sees that it’s more nerves than intention. She takes a deep breath and lets go. “I want _you_ , Dexter,” she braves at last, nodding as if she’s only just decided. “Now.”

He’s known for days, ever since the first time he caught her eyes lingering, that she might eventually make a move. And he’s told himself again and again to handle it properly. Cautiously. “Are you sure?” he asks. (If she says no, he is going to go kill himself.)

“I’m sure.” And maybe she’s heard what he’s thinking, because she quirks her eyebrows with a smile. “Lucky for you.”

* * *

Everything is fine, everything is _normal_ as they undress themselves, kissing throughout with mutual, _normal_ passion. It’s all fine. It’s fine when they’re naked, it’s fine when they tumble to the bed together, it’s even fine when he shifts to lie on top of her.

It’s when he touches her cheek – gently, just the barest brush of fingers – that she hisses and turns stiff.

“Hey – Lumen?” he murmurs, without moving. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

“I know. It’s just-…” She can’t really describe what scared her, until he moves to stroke her arm in a way that’s meant to be reassuring.

“ _Ah!_ ” She pulls away with a yelp.

So Dexter rears back at once, hands out wide, nonthreatening. “Whoa! Whoa, okay, okay, no more. Lumen, look at me. It’s okay.”

She does look now, squinting through eyes that want to stay shut, and winces visibly as she explains. “I’m sorry. It’s just the… touching. The feel of their-” She breaks off suddenly, and he sees her face light up with sudden inspiration. She starts to smile. “Dexter! Would you?”

“Would I…?” But then he notices: she’s holding up her hand, wiggling her gloved fingers.

Now it’s _his_ turn to stare wide-eyed. “You want-…?”

“Uh-huh.” She bites her lip. “I mean, if you don’t mind…?”

“No no. Not at all,” he assures, swinging over the side of the bed to dig them out of his pants pockets. He kneels up between her legs again and puts them on. “There – now we match,” he says lightly.

But then he happens to glance at her face, and realizes that she is staring at him, enraptured. What could he have done to merit that look? All he did was put his gloves on.

The sight of _her_ putting her gloves on drove him nearly out of his mind earlier, but that, he tells himself, is different. She couldn’t possibly find it attractive for the same reason. Or could she? The idea that she might want him _because_ of his darkness as opposed to in spite of it has never crossed his mind before. It almost seems too good to be true.

Lumen bursts out laughing. “Look at you!” she says. “Earth to Dexter! Are you with me?”

“Yeah,” he laughs back, stretching out beside her. “Sorry. May I?” He reaches towards her, hovering over her stomach, not yet touching.

She nods.

When he presses his palm flat against her she surges up. “Whoa! Oh, wow, yeah,” she realizes. “Oh that does feel…”

“Different?” he finishes, when she can’t. “Good?” He pets her firmly, over her stomach and her ribs and her breastbone. He deftly avoids her breasts proper though; the few seconds of DVD he’d caught had included such mauling of her chest that he suspected she might never want touch there again.

She sighs and undulates under his hand for a bit, and then takes him by the wrist and pushes downwards. There’s no need to ask this time if she’s sure; she’s bending her knees and her hips are straining up, and it’s not really possible to look any more sure than this.

He covers her sex loosely a moment, hand just resting still as he slides his other arm under her neck so she can cuddle closer. She relaxes, tickling herself delicately on the stomach, and the sight of her gloves against her skin almost makes him crazy again. _Now we match._

She hears his breath catch. “What?” she asks, smiling.

“Nothing. Your-…” He watches.

“Oh.” She arches eyebrows at him. “You’ve got a pair too, you know.”

“I know.” When his fingers go exploring they gasp together – her with pleasure, he supposes, and him because through the leather _she feels like blood._ Hot and wet and slick.

He knows it’s bizarre that it should feel that way but it does, and he can’t get enough.

They both breathe hard. “Oh-... Dexter…” Lumen is the more articulate of the two; it’s a bit before he can manage words at all.

“It’s good?” he murmurs into her ear, watching for her reactions. “There? Like that?”

“Uh-huh.” She’s writhing. “Yeah. Like that.” It’s all _oh’s_ and _mm’s_ for a while then, until all of a sudden she directs: “More!” and then “More- _Dexter_!” She sounds almost surprised to be coming, and she reaches down to guide his hand herself as she finishes. Her grip is surprisingly strong, her hand and her insides both, and he finds he enjoys it.

“Oh god… oh boy,” she whispers, shaky, as she rides it out. When she seems to be done he moves just a little, meaning to dislodge himself, but that starts her jerking all over again. “ _Whoa,_ ” she gasps. “Whoa. Hang on.”

She removes his hand herself, and climbs on top of him still breathing hard. “Do you want to have sex?” she pants down into his face. “Dexter that felt so good – _so_ good. I’m ready to if you want it.”

He lies beneath her and touches her, everywhere, watching black leather on her white skin. “Yeah – let’s.”

“Okay.” She scoots back a little so she can touch him, and the sight of gloves _there_ makes his cock jump in her hands. She laughs, and leans forward to tug him by the shoulders. “Cmon.” They shift over together so that he’s on top, and he keeps his weight on his arms so he doesn’t crush her.

“Slowly,” she warns as she reaches down to align them.

He nods. “Anything you want.”

She wraps her arms around him and holds him tight. “I told you what I want.”

* * *

The End.

Let me know what you think!

 


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